Super Robot Wars H
by Jemu Nekketsu
Summary: Someone is out to discredit the ESDF, using surveillance tapes of shocking activities of some of its members, which they deny. Who will you believe?
1. Prologue

SUPER ROBOT WARS H

Disclaimer: I don't own the Banpresto Original Characters that appear in this work.

PROLOGUE

Once upon a time there was a war monger who possessed the ability to bend space time to his will, such that he could basically do massive dimension jumps with his eager band of warriors - and their war machines as well. One day, while he and his army were resting on their laurels (after subjugating a world where the armed forces used nothing but Hückebeins), an aged man in dark robes, his face covered with a wicker hat, approached the warlord.

"Hail, mighty one," the robed man greeted the warlord in his raspy voice.

"Hail to you too, ancient one," the warlord replied. The bodyguards accompanying the warlord gave no sign of seeing their visitor or hearing their leader speak. Curious, the warlord thought. "What brings you to our camp?"

The old man raised his head and fixed his hat, staring at the warlord with endless black eyes. "A vision of the future - your future."

"Ah. You saw me embarking on countless campaigns, returning in victory each time? But I have no need of visions such as that for the future, because it is all coming to pass in this present."

"I foresaw ownage and carnage, but it is of you and your once proud army."

"Preposterous!" the warlord cried, reaching for his blaster. When he looked down to see why he could not seem to grasp it, he gasped - _his right hand was not at the end of his arm._

"You have just received a portent from the Dark Gods - you will not live forever, and already they are dancing in anticipation of your soul."

"Give me back my hand, foul sorcerer!"

"Me, o great one? I am but a seer."

"Give it back, or I shall have yours in its place!"

"It would be very interesting to see how you would explain to your soldiers about your hand, warlord."

"What are you-?" the warlord broke off as he beheld his right hand, whole and solid once more. As he stared at it uncomprehending, the robed man turned on his heel.

"It seems you do not wish to avert your fell destiny. Very well, I bid you enjoy the rest of your doomed life."

"No! Stay! _Please._ There is no need to be hasty! M- may I offer you something? Refreshments, perhaps?"

"A chair, for starters, would be nice."

The harried warlord snapped his fingers, but none of his guards moved.

"Don't bother with your men - around me, time flows as I will. Your men are trapped in a bubble of slow time, which I have excluded both of us from - a year for us would be but a second to them.

Warily, the warlord rose out of his chair and motioned for the seer to take it. The seer seated himself, and began to prophesy.

_"Your end shall be brought about when the Shrike and Falcon pledge troth, and lead the child of they who have been blessed by the Four Beasts to deliver your death stroke. Two maidens aforementioned shall gambol with a Dancer-in-Darkness, and fornicate in her footsteps, but shadows will cover their deeds as surely as Death will embrace you."_

Chilled to the bone, the warlord asked, "And how shall I prevent all these from coming to pass?"

_"The Dancer is the key. Without her veil of darkness, their dark deeds shall be revealed. In light is revelation, in revelation lies hope. Revelation may yet turn the Shrike against the Falcon, light may yet see the Tiger King to rage against the Ruler of Dragons, and the Dancer shall be revealed as the Great Whore."_

"So, all I have to do is kill this Dancer, and all will be well? Excellent! Tell me where I can find her, so I can rally my men."

The seer chuckled. "I am afraid it will not be that simple, my lord. See, even now she seeks an alliance with the Iron Giant, the Bear of Steel; she pleases the White Knight, known to as the Platinum Devil of the Battlefield. Siding with her as well is the War God mounted on a black Whirlwind, wielding The Sword That Cleaves All Before It, as well as the other members of the Order of the Masquerade. The Dancer's champions are more than a match for you, and those fanatical mortals who worship them are legion."

"Then how? If you say the truth, then all is lost! If we cannot get to her using strength, what is left?"

"Subterfuge, of course," replied the seer, his eyes gleaming.

"Subterfuge? Pardon, ancient one, but we are warriors, not assassins or spies!"

"Hmm? It is as you say, none of your men - or even your women, sadly - have a talent for subterfuge or trickery." The seer leaned toward the warlord. "But I do, my lord, and in abundance."

"Are you offering to join my ranks! Praise the Blood God! You may name your price, in exchange for being among our numbers!"

"Fufufufu. A generous offer, my lord, but I prefer to work as a retainer. Would you like to see my contract?"

At the warlord's nod, a pentagram of flame appeared in the air in front of him, and a skeletal hand came out, clutching a parchment scroll in its bony grip. Grimacing, the warlord took it, unrolled it, and read the contents. When he had finished, he was no longer grimacing, but his face was in a thoughtful frown.

"Well, my lord? What is your answer?"

"If I agree to this, you will prevent my prophesied death?"

"If you agree to the terms written in the scroll, I shall set into motion a series of events that will expose the Dancer's secret deeds - and I've explained how important she is, have I not?"

After a long silence, the warlord spoke. "Then, in accordance to the terms of this contract, in exchange for your service, I do pledge my soul, those of my followers, and our implements of war, to the forces of Entropy, until the last star has burnt itself to dust." A crack of thunder punctuated the end of the short speech.

"Excellent, my lord. Now, I must leave and get to work thwarting this doom of yours. We will meet again, my lord. Have no worries, and leave it to me." In the blink of an eye, the seer was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

He loved his job, the Corrupted Prophet thought. Originally, he was going to make a killing selling copies of the sex video allegedly starring three women from the Alpha Numbers, when his precognition, a talent bought dearly from the forces of Entropy, (and which he was paying installments on) had kicked in.

Intrigued, he decided to follow this particular vision, and a few Time Dives later (a slightly cheaper purchase from Entropy power brokers), he found the superstitious dimension-hopping warlord whose early demise would be a great loss for Entropy, a demise that was thankfully preventable by specific targeting of the videos in his possession.

A dimension-hopping army of mecha and their pilots would go a long way toward erasing his debts, and being the born opportunist that he was, he didn't let this one go.

He smiled, mentally patting himself in the back for saving a small tribe of metamorphs and shape-shifters, at great personal risk, from getting lynched by some self-righteous human supremacy cultists. It hurt him to act like a total goody-two-shoes, but it was worth it. He tried to convince the tribe that they owed him nothing, but at the end of the day, he walked away with their debt of gratitude - no, with the life-debt of the tribe.

"As long as it is not our deaths, ask, and we shall give if it is in our power," said the tribe's spokesperson. They were not really a tribe, more like a traveling band of diverse shape-shifting races, but they acted as one.

He spent a lot of his time getting to know them, and they answered all his questions. He found out that some of them were not from this galaxy, some were not from this dimension, and some were just hiding out of sight from the humans such as the ones that tried to do them in - until their numbers swelled so that the chance they might be discovered became not negligible anymore, and Fate decided to roll the dice against them.

All in all, he was still a human in their eyes, something to be wary of, if not despised outright. But there was no denying the fact that he had saved them (by the expedient of calling down an Entropy Demon Strike against the cultists, and racking up more debt), and he came not to hunt them, but to talk! He wanted to learn all he could about them, answered all their questions about humans and their ignorance and prejudices, and never showed any disgust at their varied natural forms. In time, they got to know him as well, and he found a family of sorts - the first in a very, very long time.

One day, he asked them if they could imitate humans, and they got offended, claiming that humans were too easy to mimic. All they had to do, they said, was merely observe a human for a few minutes, and they could change to become a perfect copy. It took various time with each race in the tribe, they said, and other factors for success were discussed - the size of the target, gender, and of the copycat as well. The best of them were the doppelgangers - on his first talk with them, the Corrupted Prophet found himself conversing with a dozen of himself. It was very discomforting for him, and when he said this aloud, the doppelgangers laughed and apologized for playing with him in that manner. They reverted to their true faces, and the Corrupted Prophet found himself staring at smooth faces totally devoid of features.

Not wishing to form any deep attachments to the tribe, he bade them goodbye and traveled space and time, offering his "services" to people his precognition pointed out. They bade him a safe journey, and told him while they still mistrust humans, he would always be welcome in their gatherings.

One day, an envoy of Entropy tracked him down, saying that they will consider a surveillance mission of Earth's defenders as a sizable down payment on his debts, and he readily took it. It seemed that the hierarchy of Entropy wanted to know what kind of opposition to prepare for before invading.

So he did surveillance. He enjoyed the espionage, the sneaking around, the long-range photo shoots in the night, the infiltration of bases and planting surveillance devices in places no one would look for - he got a real kick out of it. Then he settled down to do what he was really hired for - to watch, listen, and learn. He kept a copy of all the information his devices had gathered - for insurance.

What he learned amused him. A popular group, known planet-wide and in some space colonies as well as the Alpha Numbers headed the list of Earth's defenders. There were also smaller specialist teams, like the widely venerated ATX Team, and together with the Alpha Numbers they formed a large force that the Prophet nicknamed "Earth's Super-sized Defense Force," a play on the group's initials of "E.S.D.F."

That wasn't the funny part - what had him rolling on the floor was that _they had fans!_ Fans, the Prophet thought! Rock stars have fans. Pop idols had fans. AV (adult video) models and porn stars had fans! But pilots who could at any time be called to die for the planet? He shook his head.

And these fans were bad! They were very vocal about who among their 'idols' should marry, who should sleep with whom, etc., etc. They wanted to know what their idols looked like naked - heck, they wanted to see them having mad, beautiful sex! They would pay dearly, willingly, to see them in little publications labeled "Swimsuit edition" or "Summer edition!" and in live shows where they wore very little and showed a lot of skin!

The Corrupted Prophet winced at the irony of the situation. Here he was, powerful, nearly immortal, but in debt to a universe-conquering conglomerate and flat-out broke in Earth. He liked Earth, despite the fact that in order to be free to do as he pleased, he needed money. Lots of it. Because his precognition worked in erratic bursts (he thought at times that he had gotten shafted with this deal), and he scoffed at stooping to hedge magic, he couldn't even get a job as a carnival fortune-teller. Thus, he was always strapped for cash.

He couldn't rob banks - for some odd reason, his Entropy-given time control power never worked on Earth, ever. In alternate Earths, sure, it worked like a charm (like the one the doomed warlord had conquered), but never on the True Earth. When he asked his Entropy contact about this, he mumbled something that sounded like "the Guardian of Eden" or "Gun Eden" or "Gan Eden" that the Prophet didn't quite catch.

One night, it came to him. A plan so audacious and crazy that it was a miracle if it could be put together, but it would ensure much ownage if it _did_ get put together. If he pulled it off successfully, he wouldn't have to do it a second time, except maybe for the sheer pleasure of doing so.

The plan was simple - he would pander to the not-so-hidden desires of the idolatrous crowd, providing them what they would pay dearly to see. With a price, of course. The only snag was finding people who were dead ringers for the ESDF All-Stars who could be persuaded to perform all manner of acts that would rival Sodom and Gomorrah in their heydays.

Naturally, he thought of his tribe of morphlings. He was unsure of how enthusiastic and receptive they'd be to his plan, so he called upon his subterfuge skills and wove an explanation that would appeal to them. He ended up making a speech to them which went like this:

"I need your help in a venture that will part humans from something they hold dear, as well as deceiving them at the same time, making great fools of them. May I count on your aid?"

As luck would have it, it was the right thing to say. Without even asking what it meant for them, several metamorphs agreed on the spot, and others were convinced later that for minimal use of their abilities, they would be able to mock humanity.

The Corrupted Prophet showed them the surveillance videos of the ESDF that he had taken, and asked the tribe if they could mimic each one they saw. After some assignations of roles, and repeated viewings of how they moved and how they spoke, he was flabbergasted as he stared at the ESDF All-Stars - or identical twins of them - formed up in front of him. He was speechless for a while, and then he began to laugh, crying out "Oh yeah! They'll never know what hit them!"

The whole tribe shared in his glee. All they ever wanted was to live out their dreams, but the humans made it impossible, if not difficult. It was time to address the balance, to pay back what was owed, and they would start by making a mockery of the humans' dreams. It was just fair, they decided.

Now that the Corrupted Prophet had his cast, it was time for a script. This proved to be almost too easy - a not-so-fictitious ero-script / ero-story contest on the Internet netted enough material to make him consider taking a day job as a film director.

The winner was a short, to-the-point piece entitled "The Nanbu Wedding Night." It had a great dialogue, and it went like this:

_SCENE: High-end hotel honeymoon suite. It is nighttime, the moon slanting in the open balcony, illuminating the scantily clad couple in the king-sized bed. She's lying on her stomach on top of him, while he's gazing up at her, his hands stroking her back._

Excellen: Kyosuke? (Runs her hands over his chest.)  
Kyosuke: What is it?  
Excellen: About children...  
Kyosuke: Two girls named Lemon and Alfimy, right? I know.  
Excellen: Ok, Mr. I-Can-Do-Anything Nanbu, can you make them twins? Right here, right now? (Gets pulled down by him for a long, drawn-out kiss.)  
Kyosuke: I don't mind tough odds. (Begins to remove her lingerie.)

He had made his first film, and then he shopped around for a distributor who had connections and was willing to sign a contract. Then he watched as he raked in the money. His partner couldn't believe it, and begged for an extension of the contract which he declined. They parted on amiable terms - until the Corrupted Prophet used part of his millions to start up his own studio, "Nostranagun Films." He had named his company after his name in a previous life, 'Nostranagun,' which meant "he who seeks to alter fate."

Nostranagun Films was a big success - he was raking in billions now, all under the nose of the ESDF. His first purchase wasn't for himself - he bought a secluded island where the metamorphs could retire to if they didn't feel the call of the road, where no one could persecute them anymore. This thoughtless act from him earned him a more powerful version of the life-debt, and some of the younger generation of the metamorphs, now freed from the task of watching over their elders, went up to Nostranagun and professed a definite affinity for "the business."

Nostranagun couldn't believe his luck. He had erased a major portion of his debt, and what originally started as a one-time impulse turned into something... bankable. If he played his cards right, he might even get to pay off his debt totally, and keep his metamorphs with him.

He brought his mind back to the present, nodding at the contents of the briefcases his buyers presented. He withdrew from his coat copies of his latest production, innocuously entitled "Ochichi." The blurb at the back proclaimed that the movie starred 'Kusuha,' 'Seolla,' and a newcomer 'Selena,' and promised lots of hot curves and even hotter action.

They traded goods and parted ways, none of them wishing to be seen with each other. Nostranagun left, to do his little task for the poor, doomed warlord. He was whistling as he walked into an alley and disappeared from sight.


End file.
